


honey you're familiar

by hazzafrazza (colberry)



Series: ain't afraid of no ghosts [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Banter, Fluff and Humor, Ghost Harry, Ghost Louis Tomlinson, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, Haunting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Paranormal, Past Character Death, Supernatural Elements, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, liam payne trying his best, respectfully using ouija boards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colberry/pseuds/hazzafrazza
Summary: “Have you ever done Ouija, Lou?” Harry asked absently. He drifted closer to the candles Liam set out in an indiscernible pattern. Evergreen Spice, Vetiver & Cardamom, Apple Orchard. There was about to be a potpourri explosion in here and Harry was wistful to be missing it.He felt Louis lag behind, but still curl into him like a hand grasping at his coattails. “Not for real. Pretty sure those came around after me. There were a few kids who set one up here back in the 90s.”“Which 90s?”“1890s, you pillock.”Or: Liam ain't afraid of no ghosts, Zayn borrows his sister’s Ouija board, and Louis and Harry have enough patience to last an eternity.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik & Liam Payne
Series: ain't afraid of no ghosts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995913
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	honey you're familiar

**Author's Note:**

> oh, hi! a bit late for halloween, but only by a day :) 
> 
> it's been way too long since my last fic (2017??) and i missed writing these ruffians. i hope you enjoy!

“Oh, not this again.”

A cold thrumming settles in next to Harry’s own non-corporeal form. He smiles—well, mentally remembers the feeling of smiling on account of the whole _“I’m now just a mass of energy beyond the mortal veil”_ thing he has going on. But even without a defined shape with eyes and hands and a mouth, Harry would know Louis’ exasperated drawl anywhere.

Harry sends out a tendril to twine against Louis’ side. “Just a bit of fun, isn’t it?”

The mass on his right prickles like a miffed cat, fur arching across its back in wispy spines. “It’s ridiculous, is what it is. He’s been relentless and I know exactly who started it.”

Harry pointedly ignores the daggers being thrown his way. He doesn’t need to see it to know Louis’ entire formless being is shaped like a scowl. “His toothbrush would’ve fallen on the ground, Lou. That’s not sanitary, he doesn’t have any extras, and you know Liam would’ve used it anyway.”

That was three months ago.

For the most part, living with a flesh-and-bone roommate has been pretty par the course. Harry isn’t resentful of their warm hands and sense of touch and ability to taste beans on toast whenever they felt like it. Mostly. He only really gets agitated (in a fussy way, not a demonic entity way, he promises) when his own “hands” slip through the vinyl records he aches to put on and listen to for a slice of home.

But for the most part, he’s just amused.

He’s not so ancient that he has forgotten how it is to be human. If anything, Louis loves to remind Harry how if things worked out differently (i.e. if that LSD tab hadn’t been laced), Harry would be young enough to be Liam’s father. Which is _super weird_ to come to grips with since the realm definitely keeps everyone’s mentality frozen at the moment of expiration.

Harry is forever 26, although watching Liam navigate life makes him feel at least 86.

But back to the point: Harry couldn’t help it, not when Liam let out a soft and despondent _Oh, no_. So he just sort of _pushed_ and made sure the toothbrush landed on the closed toilet lid instead of the grimy tile. Just a tiny parlor trick that cost him way too much energy (being “young” has its drawbacks), but he could tell even as he flickered into that strange _Not Here_ place for a quick kip, Liam’s eyes were bugging out of his head and Louis’ energy was exceedingly exasperated.

“If Liam wanted to scrub his teeth with _Eau de Bathroom Floor_ then that’s his choice. Instead, we now got a two-bit Bill Murray buying way too much sage.”

To give Liam credit, that was one of his first attempts. He apparently got a tip from a neighbor (Mrs. Galloway, who Harry remembers from his Before Time. She is just as spry as she was when she used to tag along to Fleetwood Mac concerts with him and her brother—who Harry desperately tried to get a blowie from in the toilets). She thought Liam was trying to expel the spirits and was no doubt compelled to help when faced with Liam’s emotional eyebrows. However, on the contrary, Liam was welcoming them with open arms and promptly tossed out the sage when his friend Zayn said so.

For the record, sage is useless but still lovely.

“I thought the spirit box was fun.”

The pointy edges are softening on the outskirts of Harry’s vision, Louis’ being acquiescing the point as he grumbles, “A little. They need to make those things have more options. I had to get stupidly creative by the end there.”

Harry nods. There’s only so many times one can trigger the box to say _Cock_ before the wielder thinks it's broken and puts it away before Harry has a chance to gather enough energy to fiddle around. Instead he had to relay his responses to Louis who took massive amounts of creative license when translating Harry’s words for the spirit box.

“But those _rods_ were bullshit.” Louis groans. His energy does a little thrum to emphasize the point and Harry thrills at the vibrations against his own tendrils.

“Not his finest moment, sure, but I’ll admit I kind of asked for that one.”

Harry was secretly _very_ pleased with himself. Manipulating condensation didn't take a lot of effort, so with a pinprick of energy he drew a loopy smiley face in Liam’s bathroom mirror as he showered. It was at this point Liam deemed the bathroom a “hot spot” and recruited Zayn to help him use dowsing rods to locate the Caspers in his midst.

The sight of two grown men cramped together in Liam’s half-bathroom, one delighted and the other infinitely patient, was wonderful. But unlike the sage, the rods did do something. It was almost like a lure that snatched Harry and Louis’ energies and kept them confined in the space where the rods were being used. It was an odd feeling, Harry mused, almost like a hot thumbprint pressing into where his solar plexus used to be.

He deemed it radically cool, but Louis was not a huge fan. He preferred to roam freely throughout the estate, thinning out his energy until his consciousness was in multiple places at once. Harry personally thought he’d get motion sick if he tried that one, but maybe it came with age. He still relates more so with his corporeal existence and likes feeling anchored.

So when the rods kept them in place, Louis harrumphed. Harry likes to think he also pouted and crossed his arms. It was one of the many instances where Harry ached to see him.

Either way, they refused (well, Louis refused and made Harry promise as well) to manipulate the rods and soon Liam turned to Zayn with a shrug and concluded the ghosts were shy.

“We’re putting a lot of pressure on them,” Liam admitted solemnly. “It’s like having a shy bladder.”

Louis sputtered, but Zayn gamely nodded along. “Maybe meet them halfway?”

“Halfway” is apparently now, two weeks later, with a bunch of candles and an Ouija board.

Harry focuses his attention back to where Liam is setting up what looks to be a pretty rad seance. Harry always wanted to do one in his Before Time, but was too nervous about welcoming in something dark and cruel. It's weird being on the other side of it. If he relaxes his focus just a bit, Harry can nearly split his vision and watch how in a parallel universe this could have been him and his friends.

“Have you ever done Ouija, Lou?” Harry asks absently. He drifts closer to the candles Liam set out in an indiscernible pattern. _Evergreen Spice, Vetiver & Cardamom, Apple Orchard._ There's about to be a potpourri explosion in here and Harry is wistful to be missing it.

He feels Louis lag behind, but still curl into him like a hand grasping at his coattails. “Not for real. Pretty sure those came around after me. There were a few kids who set one up here back in the 90s.”

“Which 90s?”

“1890s, you pillock.”

Harry makes sure Louis can feel his smirk, radiating cheekiness. Meanwhile, Liam fusses with the lighter before moving on to set out some more items. Harry peers closer: some shiny rocks and a CD.

“What are those for?” Zayn ambles back into the room with a backpack. He plops it down on the kitchen chair and rummages around.

Liam finishes arranging his rocks and beams. “Crystals for protection and _Bella Donna_ as an offering.”

Harry flails a bit, rushing forward to gaze longingly at the CD.

“Why _Bella_ _Donna_?”

“When I was putting away my dad’s vinyls, that one kept getting shuffled out of the pile. Thought it was a sign.”

It was Harry’s not-so-subtle attempt to get Liam to use that dusty record player. He never got to hear _Bella_ _Donna_ for himself—he placed that LSD tab into his gob three years before it came out. But he had faith in Stevie and knew it in his phantom bones that it was legendary.

“Fair enough,” Zayn nods. He pulls out the Ouija board and begins unfolding it. “My sister says you’re not supposed to do this on a table, but I know you pulled your back yesterday, so let’s save crouching on the floor for the next ritual.”

“Gardening is no joke,” Liam sighs. Harry shoots Louis a look, giving him a sharp jab.

“Hey,” Louis sputters. “He was messing with those roses you like. Had to get that damn spade away from him somehow.”

Ah, well. That was alright, then.

“Did your sister tell you anything else?”

Zayn began ticking off his fingers, “Don’t use it alone, don’t use it on a table, don’t use it in your house.”

Liam hums, finally lighting the candles. “One out of three isn’t the worst.”

“Normally I’d be more cautious, but if you haven’t pissed them off yet with your Ghostbusters cosplay, I think they’re chill.”

Harry flutters appreciatively. “Yes! We _are_ chill, right Lewis?”

Louis lazily fiddles with the corner of the Ouija board. Harry tries to imagine what expression he has on. Something pensive? Fond? Harry hopes for the latter. Louis routinely floods that emotion into Harry’s swirling essence. Harry almost doesn’t mind his inability to see Louis’ face when fondness fills up his entire being, leaving him floaty and blushing.

“Certifiably,” Louis agrees, his cursory investigation of the board concluded. “Not sure how all-powerful this board is going to be when it’s made from the same stuff as Candyland.”

_Oh_ , that was a good game. It was stashed in the hall closet ready to whip out whenever Liam’s nieces came to visit. Harry’s competitiveness didn’t end when his bones were buried and he made sure to nudge the dice in Stella’s favor on her turns.

“Did it work on you all those centuries ago?” Harry gives Louis another poke, mostly so they intertwine just a bit more.

“Excuse me, Harold, it was a singular century ago,” Louis sniffs. He grasps back at Harry, though, knitting themselves closer. “But not really. It could have, but I think there’s something about intention that goes into it. I probably could’ve moved stuff, but I was young and the kids were just fooling around.”

Harry should’ve been reborn as a cat, he suddenly surmises, feeling his whole entity purr against Louis’ mass as it braids with his own. He yearns to be petted, the ghost cat that he is.

He's still listening to Louis, though—still fascinated by the prospect of being on the other side of a spirit walkie-talkie—but Harry learned decades ago that focusing while tangled in the veil was sometimes flimsy. That, and Louis was always the biggest distraction in the room.

He manifests the idea of his cheek rubbing against Louis’ own while watching Liam and Zayn settle into their chairs with the board between them. “I want to move it.”

A ghostly touch ruffles through where his hair should be. “Then you will.”

Harry is sure that if Liam and Zayn happened to look a bit to their right, they would catch a prism of light from Harry glowing.

“So, do we do a countdown from 10?”

Zayn’s face does something complicated, stuck between a scoff and an indulgent smile. “It’s not a space shuttle launch. Here, Safaa says you need to warm it up a bit. Put your fingers on the planchette like this and I’ll put mine on top of yours.”

Liam gets into position, but furrows his brow. “Why am I on the bottom?”

Zayn shrugs, “It’s your ghost, man.”

That's enough for Liam and soon both of them have their fingers touching the plastic guide. Harry watches Liam take a deep breath and Zayn roll his shoulders. “Oh, they’re super into it.”

Louis floats just a bit closer to the table and Harry follows. “This will be good.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry teases. “No longings to stretch yourself across the estate and wail at the moors?”

Louis squirms against him, half delighted and half affronted. “There are absolutely no moors here and you best believe if there were I’d be the best wailer among them.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Harry coos.

“Okay,” Zayn thrums his fingers against the planchette, nerves small but present. “Now we’re gonna move it around a bit and rev it up.”

“Can we do shapes?” Liam asks sincerely.

“We can do shapes,” Zayn assures.

And they do—big figure-eights, small circles, and Harry also spots a few trapezoids thrown in there.

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but Harry is ready to Communicate with a capital C. He’d been wanting to since the first time Liam stepped foot into the estate with wide eyes and an inheritance he didn’t know what to do with. He was a bit dim, a bit over his head with most things, but so good and so lovely and Harry knew in his heart buried six feet under that they would’ve been pals.

It would’ve been a friendship based on being delightfully confused by the other, but held together by love. And he knew it was the same with Louis, in that brotherly way of constantly nipping at each other’s heels.

So, when a crackle of _something_ fizzes along his edges, Harry tries not to move and scare it away. It feels like catching static electricity in your hands—a tiny snap-crackle burn. Louis is humming along contentedly beside him and Harry knows he feels it too.

“Alright, I think that’ll do it.” Zayn pulls the planchette to a stop near the middle of the board. The candlelight makes shadows dance down the slope of his nose and cheekbones. “Google said only one of us should ask things so it’s not confusing. Floor’s yours, mate.”

“Oh,” Liam breathes out. He presses a little harder on the planchette before relaxing. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Think of it like introducing yourself to a stranger at the pub,” Zayn encourages, wiggling his fingertips against Liam’s. “Hi, how are you, what’s your name, et cetera. Just be yourself.”

Liam nods firmly, mouth set in a determined line. “Okay. I hope they like me.”

Louis huffs out a laugh, so fond and so light, and Harry knows he'll be content for eons, forever, right here with Louis.

Louis asked him once, near the beginning—Louis' energy small and tense—whether he was restless.

_“Even I know about the seventies. Free and wild and untamed. You have none of that here.” Louis had said softly, just a mere whisper somewhere in front of Harry._

_“You make me feel those things,” Harry had pressed in close. “Even if I’m not supposed to. Even if this is a punishment, or I just didn’t die right, whatever. I’m those things with you.”_

And Louis, overwhelmed and so lonely for so long (unknowingly waiting for him, for Harry), had sank into him. And for just a moment or a decade, they were one.

“He’s an idiot, but he’s our idiot,” Louis declares now, energy spiking with anticipation.

Pools of wax are gathering in the candles, keeping track of time even if Harry feels like they’re all suspended in amber. Liam takes another deep breath, closes his eyes for a moment, before blinking them open and sliding himself, Zayn, and the planchette to _Hello_.

“Um, hi?” Liam immediately whips his head around, as if Harry and Louis are about to loom over the room. “This is Liam. This feels like a voicemail, but I guess I am leaving a message? Just wanted to, um, check in. I know you know that. I’ve been trying a lot with a bunch of things. Hope that wasn’t too annoying.”

Liam pauses and stares at the board. Zayn nudges him with his foot beneath the table and whispers. “You need to ask questions, Li.”

“Oh!” Liam jerks upright from where he was crouched over the board. “Right, sorry. I know consent is, like, super important, so I guess… Would you _like_ to speak to me? Us?”

Harry is too busy being hopelessly endeared to even try to respond, but Louis dashes forward. A tendril, blurred and milky-white, curls over Liam and Zayn’s fingertips and around the planchette. Louis pauses, gathering himself, and steers the device slowly, slowly to _Yes_.

He then reels himself back with a snap and Harry knows his grin is sharp and alive. “Oh, this is going to be _so_ much better than the moors.”

Zayn and Liam stare at their hands, dumbfounded. Liam finally yanks his head up and fish-mouths at Zayn who immediately says, “I didn’t move it.”

Liam’s fingers tremble. A wavy strand of hair dangles across his forehead when he looks back down at the board. Harry can see him gulp. “That’s… that’s _wicked_. Hi, hi.”

With every word Liam speaks to them, Harry can feel it echo inside himself. He’s not always sure where his _self_ begins and ends, but right now it feels like it’s seeping into the entire room. If he had feet he’d be levitating, he knows it. This is different than when Liam whispered to them underneath the blankets in his bedroom. Harry didn’t realize those words were muffled, like a garble behind a pane of glass.

Now _this_ … This is like Liam tattooing each word into Harry’s eardrum.

“Do you feel that?” Harry whispers even though he doesn’t need to. He tugs on Louis, whatever part of him he can reach. “Do you feel that, Lou?”

“A little, I think.” Louis whispers back. Harry can see his energy a bit more now, the milky-white not just in his periphery. “A little less than I think you do, though. But that makes sense. You’re newer, more connected here.”

“You’re here too,” Harry immediately snaps back. Something wild in him rears at the implication of anything different. “You’re here, with me.”

“I am,” Louis is steady, calm. “But I’ve been here so long it’s like I’m everywhere. You’re more tethered. It’s not bad, either way, just different.”

Harry is silent, brooding. Louis tugs at him, like a light pull on his curls. “You’re my tether, don’t forget that. And don’t be grumpy when Liam is trying his best, the poor sod.”

“Can I ask what your name is?” Liam’s voice drifts back to them. Louis snorts, wraps himself around the planchette again and pointedly circles it around _Yes_.

Liam looks hopelessly confused and Zayn barks out a laugh. “You’ve got yourself a comedian, Liam.”

Louis puffs up royally, proud of himself, and Harry snickers. For his part, Liam takes it in stride with a delighted grin. “Oh, you clever thing! Alright, what is your name?”

Harry waits, eager to see what Louis teases Liam with, but startles when a pulse pushes him forward. Harry shrinks away in askance, instinctively searching out Louis’ eyes when he knows he doesn’t have them. He likes to think they’re light in color, mirthful and mischievous. “Lou?”

“You’re up, Hazza, go on.”

As much as Harry wants to chat, he cringes. His few attempts at Traditional Haunting have gone sideways—cabinets refusing to open, TV becoming clearer instead of static… Even his bathroom mirror smiley-face came out wonky with three eyes. You’d think after four decades Harry would’ve been up to snuff with the whole ghost business, but Louis assured him it takes time and practice. The latter was hard to come by for a while as the estate sat mostly empty after Harry’s demise.

Harry creeps forward, a little unsure, but knows this is an ideal scenario. Louis is here and Liam is kind. He won’t make fun of Harry’s sorry attempts… At least not too much.

“You should feel their energy in the planchette,” Louis instructs. “It’s just a little, but it makes a difference, like a lightning rod. Just hold it and give it a push.”

Easy enough, Harry thinks ruefully. He slinks down Liam’s forearm and wraps a tiny tendril around the guide. There’s a pulse and it makes his own energy throb. He almost smells something. A perfumed forest. He holds on tighter, newly invigorated.

Alright, a push. Harry can do that. Definitely. He eyes where the _H_ sits innocently. It’s not the furthest letter away from _Hello,_ but it might as well be five miles from where Harry is curled along Liam’s fingertips. He tries a light nudge and feels the planchette give way, but nothing moves.

He thinks about how much he _wants_ it. How much he wants to say his name. He hasn’t told anyone his name since 1977 when he snapped awake without a body and Louis beckoning him closer.

The planchette moves, glacially, to the letter _H_. Liam and Zayn are transfixed, eyes following it until it lands definitively on the marking, and both breathe out. “H.”

Harry absolutely thrills at it and, well, gets a bit too eager. He shoves emphatically and suddenly his tendril is a mountain that refuses to bend to his whims. Liam wrinkles his brow as the planchette veers off across the board, sliding around in a dizzying arc. “A—no, wait—P… Q, Y… Um, maybe they’re Greek?”

Harry flushes and reaches back for Louis while still trying to get control of the planchette.

“Lou,” he whines.

But Louis is utterly giddy. “You’re doing it! You’re amazing, darling.”

“Don’t make fun, please,” Harry sends the clearest impression of a pout he can to Louis.

“I’m honestly not, you’re keeping the planchette on the board and in their hands. That’s marvelous. Also, you’re fucking with Liam a bit, which is always great.”

Louis’ eyes would definitely be bright and mischievous, eyebrows high and cheeks pink as he grins. Harry can almost see it. He wriggles a bit at the praise and tries to refocus, not wanting to put Liam out too much. Maybe five letters is a bit ambitious.

He clamps down on the planchette. _Down boy_ , he commands. _Sit, stay_.

Like a guilty pet, the planchette settles. Harry moves it again, carefully and firmly, back onto the _H_. He circles it, a bit wobbly, but again and again so his point is taken seriously.

“Oh, there we go,” Liam brightens. “H. You want to be called H?”

The answer was already yes, but something flickers inside Harry. Sharp and urgent. A lost memory he didn’t know he had forgotten. His sister calling out for him as he ran through the fairgrounds, a smile in her voice even as she tried to sound annoyed, _“H!”_

_Yes, yes, yes, please._ Harry clutches the plastic and swings it onto _Yes_.

“Okay, H, thank you for telling me.” Liam looks up at Zayn and gives a silent cheer that Zayn echoes back with a smile that scrunches up his nose.

Louis remains quiet, but Harry can feel his happiness like an ember at his side. _H, H, H._

“Why are you here?” Liam asks in a softer voice.

Definitely a harder nut to crack. Harry sits back and lets Louis take over. The planchette glides to the question mark. It’s the truth. There’s really no concrete reason except for the fact that they both perished somewhere on the grounds and instead of going where they were meant to, their immortal coils dug deep into the dirt.

Harry doesn’t like to mull over how long Louis was here alone. He doesn’t ask him much about those years, but knows that if it were him he would’ve gone insane. Louis once assured him it wasn’t so bad, especially when he could unfocus a bit and drift. Harry never tried that himself—too afraid he wouldn’t be able to come back and too unwilling to ever go where Louis couldn’t follow.

Liam frowns at the answer, but Zayn makes a considering noise, “I guess that makes sense. It’s not so different from being alive. Like, why are any of us here?”

They both nod sagely at that and Harry smirks at how many times that line of thought came up at his smoking circles. _But, like, are we even here at all, man?_ is something he definitely said once or twice in a voice clouded by THC, and he definitely won’t be telling Louis about it unless he wants to face an eternity of (warranted) ribbing for it.

Liam turns back to the board and traces the outline of the planchette with a finger, taking care not to lift it off completely. It tickles; Harry and Louis ruffle a bit like two sooty ravens. “Hmm, how about… How did you die?”

“ _Liam_ ,” Zayn hisses. “You can’t just ask a ghost how they died. That’s gotta be, like, super personal.”

Liam nearly trips over himself. “Oh, shit, I didn’t even—I’m sorry! Forget that question, that was insensitive.”

“Our idiot,” Louis repeats, even warmer this time.

“Maybe… Can I ask, when? When did you die? Don’t answer if you don’t want to.”

Before Harry can suggest rock-paper-scissors for who answers that one, Louis is already moving things along.

“W… H… O…” Liam murmurs. Him and Zayn both still. For a brief moment, the only movement in the house is the candlelit shadows wriggling on the walls.

Liam catches Zayn’s spooked gaze. “Do you think they don’t know they’re dead?”

“That would be really fucked up,” Zayn says softly. “If they’re asking to specify, maybe… there’s more than one?”

“Fuuuck,” Liam groans. “That’s, like, an infestation, isn’t it?”

Zayn looks dubious, but juts his chin towards the planchette. “Only one way to find out.”

Liam looks back down and braces himself. “How many ghosts are here?”

Louis wastes no time, shifting their hands towards the number 2.

“Two.” Liam is quiet for a spell. Tentatively, he starts to smile. “That means you’re not lonely.”

“No,” Louis agrees. His disembodied voice fills Harry up and brushes along every part of him, soft like feathers.

“Let’s start with H, then. When did you die?”

They carry on for a bit, each of their answers (Harry, 1977; Louis, 1713) inciting new rounds of questions and before long, Harry can feel himself fade a bit, even with Liam and Zayn’s extra energy rumbling through the board. The candles’ wicks are just about singed off when Zayn taps Liam’s shin again with his foot. “Let’s give them a break, yeah? I’m already an hour late to pick up Safaa.”

“Yeah, just, one more question?” Liam implores him with big cow eyes that even Louis is already starting to cave for more and more easily, Harry notes with a cat-like grin.

Liam shakes out his shoulders after Zayn gives him the floor. He looks around the room a bit, trying to find Louis and Harry in the dark, but eventually gazes back at the Ouija board.

“Oh, he’s gearing up,” Louis perches on the table. Harry hooks himself over him until their edges blur.

“H, Lou,” Liam calls out to them. He closes his eyes and Harry is nearly vibrating with the amount of energy Liam inadvertently pulses into the planchette. “Will Sophia ever go out with me?”

Louis _bursts_ into motion, rising up and up until Harry is forced to clamor out of his way, and spits out, “I was decapitated by a cannonball in 1713, how am I supposed to know this?!”

Harry snorts, watching how Liam has his eyes shut tight and Zayn rolls his own heavenwards. He reaches out, soft but insistent, and guides the planchette one last time.

_Yes._

“I think he has a shot.”

**Author's Note:**

> tada! and for the record, louis died in queen anne's war (1703-1713). did they use cannonballs then? maybe? but i think louis would be histrionic either way. 
> 
> thanks so much for reading. i wanted to challenge myself a bit with this one. even if it's a pretty simple story, i'm not the best with managing dialogue with more than two people (and even then i sometimes get caught up in exposition), so i tried to make the banter go 'round.
> 
> i have some ideas for a series that will eventually feature niall as a willing-but-exasperated medium, so be on the look out for that eventually.
> 
> feel free to come say hi on [tumblr!](http://colberry.tumblr.com)


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